


you're in your skinny jeans anyway (teenlock)

by godmolly



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes (BBC Radio)
Genre: Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Teenlock, Unilock, and has sweater pawzz, but then he wears skinny jeans, gayyyyy, john has trouble breathing oops, locklock lmao, purple shirt of sex has a cameo, sherlock wears oversize sweaters, t(ツ)_/¯
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-28
Updated: 2017-08-28
Packaged: 2018-12-20 20:08:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11928312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/godmolly/pseuds/godmolly
Summary: prompt: Teenlock where John and Sherlock don't see each other at school that much so Sherlock always comes over at John's house after school to listen to music and cuddle. John has always seemed a bit annoyed when he saw Sherlock waiting for him on his bed lately but this time he snaps. He tells Sherlock to stop wearing oversized clothes to his house because then he sees him in school in skinny jeans and his head spins and nearly faints because he can't anticipate how beautiful Sherlocks legs are :~)tumblr





	you're in your skinny jeans anyway (teenlock)

**Author's Note:**

> lmao sorry we've actually died D:  
> but i've been in a lil bit of a writing slump so this prompt definitely helped!  
> send in prompts to us on tumblr pls  
> u get a high five if u get the title's reference

It was nothing like last year, John noted.

Their classes. Last year, he and Sherlock had had all but one of their classes together. Now that all of the introductory, 101 classes were out of the way, they were _busy_. John had rugby practice from two to five on top of all his homework and studying (which he took seriously). He called his sister sometimes, a habit he was trying to get into. Sherlock — well, Sherlock was Sherlock. He had somehow tested into three of the most difficult courses offered at their university, and was always having an essay to write or a book to read. (Of course, he hardly paid attention to any of his assignments, something that both worried and amazed John.) And any spare time was spent in either the chemistry lab on campus — the one on the left all the way down the hallway of the chem building, John knew after many three A.M. excursions to get Sherlock to at least eat, if sleep was as out of the question as always — or Sherlock’s cramped studio apartment.

But their Friday nights were always, _always_ reserved.

For what, John couldn’t name it. Mostly it was the two of them laying on John’s bed (John’s because of the Radioactive Incident when they hung out at Sherlock’s place), listening to music and idly chatting. Somewhere along the way this had turned to their weekly cuddle session. Not that John was complaining, of course not.

It was nice. Really. Sherlock would turn on some vinyl record and then curl himself around John’s body. Maybe he’d want to talk about some article he read concerning some sort of scientific discovery, or just listen to the music. It wasn’t uncommon for him to fall asleep, either. John didn’t mind; Sherlock barely got enough sleep as it is, who was he to refuse it? Besides. It was kind of nice to have something familiar next to him as the moon rose and the stars revealed themselves.

It was nice. Just not perfect.

It’d be perfect if Sherlock wore clothes that actually fit him properly.

It wasn’t a problem at first. John had given Sherlock a key after multiple instances where he had climbed in through the window, picked the lock, or just slammed at the door until either it or John gave in. He had become used to seeing Sherlock already in his bed on Friday nights, because Friday afternoons were his experiment days, and those always seemed to take it out of him.

But his clothes _never_ fit. He’d wear too-large sweatpants, probably worn thin, and a too-large shirt, probably with rips and maybe the odd stain from an experiment gone awry.

Something about it grated on John’s nerves.

Maybe it was that Sherlock, at this school on a full scholarship and getting paid well for his research, had the means to buy new clothes, ones that were actually his size.

Maybe it was that his hoodie sleeves always covered his hands, always tucked away his limbs.

Maybe it was that his shirt always slipped off his shoulder, revealing the pale porcelain skin of his shoulder and collarbone.

Who knows.

 

One night he brought it up. When Sherlock had been dozing off a little and snapped awake. His eyes were still heavy, and the curls on one side of his head were matted down from the pillow. He ran his hand through them, then dropped it down two inches from John’s own. John sighed.

“Why do you never wear clothes that fit you properly?” He hadn’t even meant it to slip out. Or sound so exasperated. By the looks of it, Sherlock hadn’t either.

“What?”

John tugged on the sleeve of Sherlock’s sweatshirt. It hung off him quite literally, with room for probably another whole person in there with him. “Do you even own clothes your size?”

“Yes, of course I do. My lab coat is my size.”

“What about clothes you wear every day? Like, I don’t know, a sweater that doesn’t swallow you up?”

“Why, though?”

John rolled his eyes. Of course, bigger clothes were more practical, which was all that mattered to him. “You should wear something that fits, Sherlock. It’ll make you feel better.”

“I don’t even know where I would buy such a thing.”

“I can take you shopping!” John offered. “There are plenty of shops just off campus.”

 

It took some convincing, but eventually Sherlock gave in to John’s pleading. He wouldn’t let John see what he was getting, though.

“You’re not my fashion advisor, only moral support. Which I don’t need,” he yelled through the door of the dressing room.

John only rolled his eyes and braced himself.

 

The bracing turned out to be quite useful.

Sherlock got _skinny jeans_.

Of all things, skinny jeans. And a purple button-down that seemed to fit him a little too well, judging by John’s inability to breathe properly.

_Skinny jeans._

Why did he think this was a good idea?

Sherlock’s legs were long. So, so long. And thin. And sculpted, because going from class to class and climbing up to John’s window on the fourth floor of his apartment building definitely did him some favors. A lot of favors. And his shirt was just a bit too tight, something John never thought would happen. It stretched across his broad shoulders, the purple contrasting beautifully with his light skin and dark hair.

 _This is not okay_ , John thought loudly, as if Sherlock could hear and heed the statement.

But from the strange look he got, maybe Sherlock could hear. Oops.

“Are you alright, John?” It came with furrowed eyebrows. John nodded, trying to catch his breath.

Sherlock checked his watch and, upon realizing he was late, walked away without a word. John watched him go.

“Yeah.”

_No._

 

~Lucinda


End file.
